


Something To Believe In

by amscray_punk



Series: Sweet Prince [2]
Category: Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Epilogue, Everyone is gay and I'm not sorry, Fluff, It's FLUUUUFFFFF, M/M, Romance, SO MUCH FLUFF, Sort Of, checking in after the events of The One We'll Create
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-09
Updated: 2020-09-19
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:29:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26381920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amscray_punk/pseuds/amscray_punk
Summary: A little check-in with the good people of Manhattan after the events of The One We'll Create. Will not make sense without having read that first. (Also spoilers if you haven't read that)*I dunno what else to say here, really, other than this is soo fluffy. I wasn't quite ready to leave this AU yet, so this happened. It was supposed to be an epilogue and well, you see how that turned out. I'm not crazy about the title and I'm sure there are 500 other fics named the same thing but that's not really my strong suit tbh so we're just going with it.**Rating for language, I think? I think there's some language in here. I can't really remember. This might be totally G-rated.
Relationships: David Jacobs/Jack Kelly, Sarah Jacobs/Katherine Plumber Pulitzer, Spot Conlon/Racetrack Higgins
Series: Sweet Prince [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1917310
Comments: 35
Kudos: 54





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, this started as an epilogue and quickly got out of hand. Shocker, I know. I cannot contain myself when it comes to these two. There were just too many things I wanted to squeeze in to make it a true epilogue so I've resigned myself to the fact that this is just a little two-chapter fic set in the same universe. Which now needs a name, shit. Oh, well. Please enjoy :)

The first same-sex wedding in Manhattan came a mere three months after the laws were changed.

Katherine wanted her people to enjoy their new freedoms, but she wanted them to feel comfortable doing so, and thus felt it was her responsibility to facilitate that. She had reluctantly agreed to be addressed as Queen, even though their kingdom hardly resembled a monarchy, anymore. She felt it was perhaps a little easier for the population as a whole to accept the sweeping changes with bits of familiarity sprinkled in. There had been a few weddings in that time between citizens who had previously been in different social standing, but no one else had had the courage to take that first leap.

Except Katherine.

Katherine and Sarah had decided that they had waited long enough–and after learning that their romantic relationship had begun in their teens, Racer quite agreed with that assessment. He was also not the least bit surprised to see Katherine leading the charge and setting an example for her citizens. He found himself in awe and inspired by her all over again; her courage to lead fearlessly, without caring about judgment. Even if that last part wasn’t _entirely_ true, she never let it stop her from going after what she wanted. Racer vowed to follow in her footsteps every chance he got.

It was with tears in his eyes that he walked her down the aisle in the chapel, his heart full to bursting from the sheer number of their friends, family, and castle staff that filled the pews. It was with deep trust and affection that he placed her hand in Sarah’s at the altar, noting the glisten in his future sister’s eyes, too. It was with pure and unwavering admiration that he told Katherine in front of the entire chapel, “You’re my hero.” It was with amused delight that he returned the wink from Medda, who was officiating, before he took his seat in the front row next to Spot. And it was with yet another burst of astonishment and gratitude–still–that he returned the affectionate squeeze of Spot’s hand as they witnessed the gorgeous, emotional ceremony.

The wedding had been small and intimate, but word spread through town like wildfire. Before long, Medda was booked for wedding after wedding across the kingdom. She was in town much more often, these days, for a myriad of reasons, weddings the least among them. After Racer had seen what her healing pastes and tonics could do, he’d commissioned her to make them in bulk so they might be available to the citizens, as well. He’d brought his sister along with him once on a visit, and he could almost see the wheels spinning in Katherine’s head as she watched Medda work. Soon, Medda was teaching classes on healing and medicinal gardening to the girls _and_ boys in the orphanages. Racer had a front row seat to watch it all unfold, and it only added to his growing excitement about the school.

The school. The offhand dream he’d conjured on a whim, inspired by the determination in Spot’s voice as he spoke about helping the orphans, about teaching them skills not only to survive, but to _thrive_. The school was a long project, developing slowly but surely with each meeting. His original idea of putting the school in the town was proving to be a bit more difficult than anticipated, due to lack of space. It was only when they moved the orphans from the Refuge–which was undergoing renovations–into the castle that it hit him.

“Let’s build it here,” Racer blurted out of the blue as he and Spot carried wooden bedframes down the hall. They were setting the boys up four to a room, each with their own bed, each room with a window and a dresser for them to share.

“What?” Spot asked, distracted as he singlehandedly arranged the beds.

“The school,” Race continued, unfazed as he flopped down onto the bed Spot had just moved. Spot closed his eyes, bracing his hands on his hips as he let out a breath through flared nostrils.

“Could ya wait until I’ve got it in place, at least?”

Race rolled his eyes but stood, helping Spot move the bed into its rightful place–approximately two inches to the left–before he threw himself onto it again. “Spotty.”

“Racer.” Spot deadpanned, waiting for him to continue. Race grinned; he’d never tire of hearing his name–any one of them, really–in Spot’s voice, no matter how exasperated his tone.

“We can build the school on the grounds.”

Spot’s eyebrows shot up. Race took that as an invitation and he sat up, motioning for Spot to sit down next to him.

“Think about it, Sean,” In the months since they had publicly declared their relationship, they had both grown more comfortable addressing each other by their first names. For the most part, they stuck to nicknames, partially because it was familiar–but also because there was something special about their real names, now. If Race called him Sean, Spot knew the subject matter was something deep, personal, and important. And if Spot called him Anthony, Racer knew he was about to say something he’d likely never said out loud before. “There’s all that empty space on the lawn on the east side, near town. It wouldn’t have to be huge, just a little bigger than the chapel, really…” Race went on excitedly, grinning instinctively when Spot’s eyes softened as he watched him. “What?”

“Nothin’,” Spot said, shaking his head as he brushed Racer’s hair from his eyes; it had become a habit, and Race was rather fond of it. He’d taken to wearing his hair a bit longer than he used to, in fact, just so Spot would have to keep doing it. “Keep talkin’.”

Racer launched into his plan that was developing even as he spoke, and Spot hung on every word–which proved to be an asset when, at the next meeting, Race could hardly remember what he’d said in that moment of inspiration. Spot did, though, and he laid it all out clearly and precisely for the rest of the advisors. Race wrapped his leg around Spot’s ankle under the table in thanks, flushing when Spot winked in response. The idea was a hit. They celebrated later in Racer’s tower room with a bottle of wine; Race was much more responsible about his alcohol consumption, these days. He couldn’t imagine why.

Renovations on the orphanage–which would no longer be known as the Refuge, regardless of the fact that it resembled one now more than ever–had been completed before the first snowfall, and the boys were thriving under their new leadership. Spot had snagged a few staff members from various places, most notably Specs and Romeo from the castle kitchens; Mike and Ike, who were itching for a new line of work; Finch, a curly-haired former Refuge inhabitant Spot knew who’d apparently never _quite_ gotten the hang of his gig as a butcher, and even Albert. Race had assumed that finding out the truth about Jack’s past had fueled Albert’s sudden career change. At least, until he’d gone to visit Spot at the newly renovated orphanage and witnessed, with his own eyes, the way Albert and Finch moved around each other. He was reminded of Jack and Davey, and he kept his hunch–which he was beginning to realize were just instincts meant to be trusted–to himself.

In the time since Katherine became queen, Manhattan enjoyed an uptick in new citizens as word spread of their new systems, their new customs. This surge in population had unexpected consequences on the orphanages, too. With the tax rates drastically reduced, the families in town had been able to better utilize their money, spending it on clothes, food, medicine to have on hand, and even “frivolous” purchases like art and musical instruments, which had found their way into the marketplace. But the most rewarding result was when childless adults and large families alike, old Manhattan residents or new, found space in their hearts and homes to adopt children from the orphanages.

The first time one of Spot’s boys was adopted, he’d spent the rest of the night in his room in the orphanage, at a loss for words. Racer sat by his side, running a soothing hand over his shoulders and back, feeling the tension gradually fade from his muscles as he muttered all of the reasons why this was a good thing. About how this meant that attitudes were changing in Manhattan; kids on the street with no shoes on their feet were becoming a rare sight, and the apathetic treatment orphans like Spot and Finch had endured was rapidly becoming a thing of the past. Eventually, Spot had nodded, though his gaze remained on the floor.

“You’re right, I know you’re right, Racer.” He sighed the words. Race leaned in to press a kiss to his cheek, which made one corner of his mouth quirk up, just slightly. “It’s just hard. Ya get attached to these little shits, ya know?” Racer chuckled softly, reaching into Spot’s hands, which were tangled together, and beginning to unravel them as he spoke.

“I know. But this just means you’re doing a good job, Sean.” Spot took a deep breath as he allowed Racer to pull his hand away, wrapping it around his shoulders so he could curl into Spot’s side where they sat. Spot squeezed him close, turning his head to drop a kiss into his hair. “Orphans are _supposed_ to get adopted. And you did your due diligence looking into the family, they’re nice people.” Spot grunted in response. Racer nuzzled into the side of his neck, earning an appreciative hum; he smiled against Spot’s skin. “They are, and you know it. You’ve done good, love.” He felt Spot rest his chin on his head, felt him swallow, felt his fingers curl a little more tightly around his shoulder. His whispered reply ghosted through Race’s curls.

“Thanks, Racer.”

It was about a year after Katherine’s wedding that the school officially opened. The late summer air had just lost its oppressive humidity, mornings were a little cooler. All the children of the town and the farms on the outskirts were eligible to attend, free of charge. The building wasn’t large, certainly nothing in comparison to the castle looming in the background, but it was new, and it had everything they needed. Davey had graciously agreed to take on a prominent leading role, to Racer’s great relief. He could think of no one better to make the academic decisions for the children who would become the future of Manhattan. He would be the main teacher, although there were plenty of others who offered to help. Medda would visit once a week to teach classes on medicine and sustainable gardening; Sarah stopped in when she could, offering practical lessons in making, mending, and washing clothes; and even Crutchie–whose real name was Charlie, Racer had made it a point to find out, and he introduced him as such–had agreed to teach the kids how to care for and ride horses. And of course, everyone’s favorite guest teacher dropped in whenever he got a chance; he had a rather busy schedule, as the queen’s right hand, but Jack delighted in sharing his artistic talents with the children, and Racer never tired of watching him.

The night before the school opened, Racer was a nervous wreck. He and Spot were in his tower room; Spot had left the orphanage in Specs’s capable hands for the evening, as he occasionally did. Most of the time, Racer stayed with Spot in his room at the orphanage, but every now and then Specs would all but push him out the door, demanding he take a break. It never really required much convincing. Race was at the window, looking out onto the moonlit grounds toward the east, where he could just see the very edge of the school building. His fingers curled uncomfortably tight around the stone window ledge, jaw clenched, the muscles in his shoulders pulled taut. He nearly jumped when he felt Spot’s hand run softly up his spine; he hadn’t heard him approach, but he instinctively melted into the touch.

“Talk to me, Racer.”

“Hmm?”

“Don’t ‘hmm’ me,” Spot said gruffly, his tone in contrast with the gentle movement of his hand over Racer’s back. “I saw you push your dinner around your plate. And,” He went on, a little louder when Race tried to interrupt. “I saw you looking off toward the kitchen door, and don’t think I don’t know where that leads. What’s on your mind?”

Racer let his breath out in a huff, finally dragging his eyes away from the edge of the building to look sideways at Spot. “I just can’t believe it’s really happening.”

“What, the school?”

It was rare that Racer was at a loss for words, but there were too _many_ words stuffed into his brain at the moment, too many worries fighting for dominance in his mind. He nodded, swallowing.

“What are you worried about? It’s going to be great.” Race turned at that.

“How can you be so sure?” He sounded exasperated to his own ears, but the way Spot’s eyes softened, the way he slid his hand down Racer’s arm and hooked a finger through his, told him Spot could sense the trepidation in his voice. To his surprise, Spot sighed.

“I can’t believe you don’t see it.”

“See what?”

“C’mere,” Spot tugged on his hand and Race allowed himself to be pulled away from the window. Spot led him over to the bed and they sat, Race pulling his legs underneath him in an attempt to stop the nervous twitch of his foot. It didn’t work. Spot mirrored his position, sitting up against the headboard, and took both of Racer’s hands in his. “I said, I can’t believe you don’t see how incredible you are.” Race made a soft noise of protest; Spot rolled his eyes but he brushed a thumb over the back of Race’s hand in a soothing gesture. “I’m serious. You don’t see the effect you have on people, the way you lift up your loved ones. Your energy is infectious, and you have so much faith in the ones you love. You think Katherine inspires you but you don’t see the way she looks to you, too.” Race chewed on the inside of his cheek; no, he’d never considered the idea that Katherine needed him like he needed her. “She wouldn’t have accomplished what she has, wouldn’t be who she is without you, Racer. And for that matter,” Spot went on, and Racer was rendered silent by the conviction in his voice. It was rare that Spot talked this much at one time, and Race knew by now to listen when he did. “Neither would Jack or Davey. Or me. Hell, look at the orphanage,”

Race frowned. “But the orphanage is y—"

“Sure, the orphanage is ‘my’ project. But it wouldn’t be what it is today without you. Without your energy, your encouragement, your ideas—"

“All my guys that you stole from me,” Race grumbled. Spot narrowed his eyes.

“Are you just talking about Specs and Romeo?”

“Yes, of _course_ I am!” Race said dramatically, throwing his arms out. “Look how skinny I’ve gotten without them!” Spot snorted; Race managed a small grin. If anything, he had put on a few pounds of muscle over the last year and some-odd months, between moving the boys in and out of the castle and helping to build the school. Spot closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose between two fingers.

“Look. All I’m saying is it’s easy to believe in something when someone who loves you believes in you. I know that for a fact, thanks to you.” He paused, dropping his hand and looking back up. Race swallowed. It was still difficult, sometimes, to stare back into Spot’s dark eyes, especially when he looked at him like that; like he was something precious to behold. “And I _know_ the school is going to be amazing because I believe in you, Anthony.”

Race’s heart fluttered in his chest and he leaned forward to press his lips against Spot’s with no warning, although Spot was rather used to that, by now. Spot uncrossed his legs, making room for Racer to sink against him, one hand tangling in his curls. When Race pulled back moments later, he tipped his chin up, blue eyes twinkling as he smirked.

“Aw, Spotty. You love me?” This wasn’t news; they had been together for over a year, and words of affirmation were just one of the ways they showed their affection. But Racer loved to tease him–God, did he love it–and Spot pretended to be annoyed. Race wouldn’t deny he liked hearing Spot confirm the fact, no matter how many times he’d heard it before. Spot’s eyes rolled toward the ceiling, but he couldn’t hide the pleased turn of his lips.

“God help me, I do.”

The next wedding held at the castle cast a sharp contrast to the queen’s small, intimate one. The ceremony was held in the chapel, but the party afterwards was so large it could only be held outside on the grounds. It made sense, of course; the queen’s right hand was immensely popular not only on castle grounds but in the town, as well. It helped that his groom was quickly becoming a favorite of the families in town, as children would run home every day babbling about the stories they’d learned in school, how they could write their names, now.

Racer couldn’t remember a time when so many of his loved ones were all together, all blissfully happy as they celebrated the long-awaited union of Jack and Davey. Medda looked radiant, as usual, but there was something else to it, this time–she almost seemed to glow whenever she looked toward her son and his new husband. Jack was entirely incapable of keeping his eyes off of Davey, which wasn’t unusual but there was something new there, too; Racer couldn’t quite put his finger on it from afar, but he could feel it in his chest when he watched his friends. It was like they had finally arrived.

Medda officiated the ceremony, as was becoming custom in Manhattan, and Racer was among many who wiped away tears when Jack dragged Davey to him by his shirt for their first kiss as a married couple, much to Davey’s chagrin. He would have to get used to that, Race supposed as he clapped along with the rest of the chapel, his cheeks sore from smiling. He glanced sideways at Spot and was taken a little off guard by the glisten in his dark eyes. It made his heart flutter again; the fact that Spot could still surprise him like that. That Spot had so seamlessly integrated himself into his life that he was brought–almost–to tears by his friends’ happiness. The ceremony spilled out onto the lawn, which was gorgeously decorated with autumn-hued flowers from Medda’s garden. Torches were placed here and there on the lawn, offering soft, romantic light as the sun set in the west. Long tables from the Great Hall had been set up for the occasion, while Jack and Davey enjoyed their first meal as a married couple at a small table in the center, set for two.

After dinner, Racer stood from his place next to Spot and walked toward the small table, tapping a fork against his goblet. The motion was unnecessary, as a hush fell over the crowd the moment he rose from his seat. Even this far out from the election, many of the townspeople still viewed him as some sort of royalty, and their eyes were never far from him, even at Jack’s wedding. Racer cleared his throat softly in the silence.

“Good evening friends, family, and esteemed guests,” He began, adopting a formal air that drew chuckles from the crowd and a hearty eye roll from Davey. “I’d like to begin by thanking you all for joining us for this glorious celebration. It is truly an honor to host this magnificent occasion, and I can’t think of two more deserving- well, wait, Sarah and Katherine, hmm,” He paused, rubbing his chin in thought. More chuckles from the crowd. He dodged the grape Davey tossed at his head, grinning. “Wait, I’ve got it. I can’t think of two people who are more perfectly suited for each- oh, sorry love,” Racer paused again, winking at Spot, who became the second person in as many minutes to roll his eyes at him. Jack groaned, though his sparkling eyes gave him away.

Race huffed a dramatic sigh, turning to face Jack and Davey. “Let me start again. I’ve known Jack and Davey since we were children. They have been the voice of reason and wisdom for me on many occasions–no, Jack I’m talking about your husband, here–and have just as often been the devil who sits on my shoulder and gets me into all sorts of precarious situations–don’t look offended, Davey, I’m obviously referring to Jack, now. But when you put them together? Something changes,” Race paused, allowing a genuine smile to slip through. No one laughed, this time. “They complement each other in ways neither one realizes they need. Jack manages to make Davey relax for once in his life, and Davey has somehow convinced Jack that his jokes are actually funny, which is just an incredible feat in and of itself-“

“Shaddup, Racer,” Jack interjected, barking a laugh. Racer waved a dismissive hand in his direction.

“Calm down, Jackie. I’m almost done. My point is, friends, that it has been the absolute pleasure of my life to watch these two fall in love. It was something truly special to behold, Jack, watching you make a fool of yourself in front of Davey for all these years. I don’t expect that to stop now, though. And Davey, my friend, my brother, you cannot hide your emotions to save your life. The minute you started blushing when Jack said your name, it was over.” Davey blushed even at that, even at his own wedding, and Racer’s chest warmed with affection at the sight. “It’s been a privilege to witness the growth from oblivious idiots-“

“Pot, meet kettle,” Jack mumbled; Davey jabbed him in the ribs with an elbow.

“-to the sickeningly sweet, just-married idiots you are today.” The crowd laughed as he fixed his gaze again on Jack and Davey. When he smiled, it was without a trace of playfulness or sarcasm. He lifted his goblet in their direction, followed quickly by the rest of the party. “To Jack and Davey: congratulations on finding the person you’re meant to spend your life with. May your years be long, happy, and blessed. Cheers.” Race led the reception in drinking from his goblet, and he pretended not to notice when Jack wiped at his eyes before standing to hug him.

The stunning cake, a joint creation from Specs and Romeo, was brought out shortly after, in addition to miniature cakes to ensure little grubby fingers stayed out of the frosting. Before long, the musicians began to play, and the dancing began on the lawn. Racer flitted here and there through the crowd, mingling with parents and friends alike before he found Spot at one of the tables and fell gratefully into the seat beside him.

“Spotty,” Racer huffed as he sat, leaning forward to peck Spot’s cheek. “There you are- oh, I’m sorry,” He added quickly, swinging his legs over the bench seat to press against Spot’s side. He’d only just realized Spot was in conversation with Finch and Albert, who were seated across from him. “Didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“Yes, you did,” Albert said, sounding grumpy–when didn’t he sound grumpy?–but the quirk of his lips gave him away. “That’s all you ever do is interrupt.” Racer flicked a crumb of cake at him, which Albert dodged easily. “It’s all right,” Albert went on, jerking his head at Finch and Spot, who’d continued their conversation without a hitch. “They’re just babbling about orphanage stuff, anyway. It’s like I’m not even here.”

Racer doubted that, as he watched Finch’s gaze flit quickly to Albert, giving an indulgent eye roll before looking back at Spot. Race poked a finger in Spot’s ribs, making him jump. Spot turned to him, one eyebrow raised.

“What?”

Race pressed himself impossibly closer, tugging on his arm. “It’s a party, Spot. You’re not supposed to be working.”

“I’m not—"

“That’s not what Al said,” Race sing-songed, grinning. “C’mon Spotty, dance with me.” Spot shook his head, and Racer knew he would, but he tried anyway. “It’s a slow song, you barely even have to do anything. Please—"

“Let’s go, Racer,” Albert huffed, pushing away from the table. Race looked up in surprise. “Before I change my mind.” Racer grinned and kissed Spot’s cheek again before standing and following Albert away from the table toward where the other guests were dancing.

After a half second of hesitation, Race stepped up to Albert and slid his arms around his neck, feeling Albert’s hands settle lightly on his hips. They swayed to the soft, slow music in silence for a few moments before Albert suddenly spoke.

“Do I need to worry about Spot coming after me?” Race snorted at the concerned note in his voice, looking over his shoulder to follow Albert’s gaze to where Spot still sat with Finch. Spot winked at him, mid-conversation, and Racer smiled, shaking his head. He turned back to Albert.

“Nah, he’s not really the jealous type.” A beat. “I think.” Albert snorted.

“Great.”

They fell quiet again, and Racer took the opportunity to take in his surroundings. He found himself, these days, in situations he never would have been able to imagine, years ago. Here he was, at Jack and Davey’s wedding–to _each other_ –sharing a dance with Albert while their respective significant others chatted easily at the table. The fact that both significant others were also men was not lost on Racer. Nor was the fact that a couple of years ago, he never would have imagined he’d be this close to Albert again, physically or otherwise. Their friendship had never truly returned to what it had been, but he supposed that made sense. They weren’t teenagers anymore, and a large part of their relationship had changed. But it had all been for the better, and he felt their bond was stronger now than it perhaps had ever been.

“Al,” Race said, suddenly.

“Racer,”

“I never got a chance to properly thank you.”

Albert frowned, confused. “For what?”

“You know for what.” After a moment, understanding crossed Albert’s face and his eyebrows lifted.

“For Morris?”

“Well, not just that, but yes.”

“Yes you did. Jack told me.”

“Still.” Race insisted, studying Albert’s face, his features. He looked much more relaxed, these days; the permanent scowl they used to tease him for only made occasional appearances. “It means more to me than you could ever know.”

“I dunno,” Albert mused as they turned. His eyes drifted over Racer’s shoulder toward the tables. “I think I have a pretty good idea.” Racer didn’t need to follow his gaze. He smiled.

“So that’s official, then?”

“Hmm?” Albert seemed distracted as he looked back at Race. He flushed. “Oh, well, yeah. I suppose.”

“You suppose?”

“We haven’t really talked about it.” Albert admitted quietly.

“Christ, Al,” Racer chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re an idiot too.”

“What?”

“Just talk to him. It’ll go the way you want, I promise.”

“How can you promise something like that?”

Race grinned. “Just a hunch. Trust me.” Before Albert could respond, a sudden tap on Racer’s shoulder startled him before a familiar deep rumble reached his ears.

“Mind if we cut in?”

Racer’s head whipped around to see Spot just behind him, holding out a hand. His smile almost split his face in two as he dropped his arms from Albert’s shoulders and took Spot’s hand. He turned to apologize to Albert, but the apology died in his throat when he noticed Finch step out from behind Spot, offering his hand to Albert.

“Thank God,” Albert said dramatically, pulling Finch close as he rolled his eyes in Racer’s direction. “He does not shut _up_.” It was Racer’s turn to roll his eyes, though he didn’t miss the wink Albert tossed in his direction before he moved Finch away from them.

Race ran his hands up Spot’s chest, circling his arms around his neck as Spot’s slid around his waist, holding him tightly. It didn’t matter that Racer was a few inches taller; this was how they always danced, the few times Racer had convinced him to do so in the last year and a half. It felt natural. Race tugged him closer as they danced, looking around them.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” He mused. Spot hummed in question; Race felt the vibration through his chest. “The wedding.” Spot pulled slightly back, watching him with something of an amused expression. “’Course, I’d want something a little more low-key.” Spot snorted.

“You? Low-key?”

“Hush,” Race admonished, grinning. “I can be low-key.”

“Mmhmm,” Spot nodded, unconvinced. “I’ll believe that when I see it.” Racer wrinkled his nose at him playfully. Spot was quiet another moment. “Do you ever think about it?”

“About what?”

“Marriage.”

“Of course I do,” Racer answered immediately, heartrate jumping at the question. “I mean, a good portion of my life was spent planning a wedding I didn’t want, so I have sort of… complicated feelings about it.” He trailed off, eyes distant. “I would just want something really small, and quiet. Just my closest friends and family, no strangers. And I wouldn’t want to have to make any decisions. But that’s not really how weddings happen, is it?” He looked back at Spot, whose eyes were unreadable. He felt a little flutter go through his stomach; it had been a while since the last time that had happened. “Do you?”

“Are you kidding?” Spot huffed a laugh, stepping slightly back from Racer to look him up and down before pulling him close again. “Look at you. How could I not?” Race flushed, grinning.

“And what do you think?”

“I think…” Spot trailed off, feigning contemplation as his eyes roamed over Racer’s face. Race tugged on his hair playfully. Spot smirked. “I wouldn’t mind waking up to this every day.”

“You already do.”

“You know what I mean.” Spot murmured, splaying his hand across Racer’s lower back to press him closer.

Race laid his head on Spot’s shoulder, his fingers tracing patterns into the back of Spot’s tunic. His eyes drifted over the lawn, heart swelling as he noticed so many of his friends and loved ones, wrapped in each other’s arms without fear, without hesitation. He’d run from the idea of marriage for so long, he hadn’t realized he’d continued to do so even after things had changed. He and Spot had been so busy, running the orphanage, getting the school underway, he hadn’t given himself a chance to see that things could be different for them, too. That he didn’t have to be afraid of marriage, anymore; it no longer represented an end to his freedom, but rather a beginning. The thought made his stomach flip and he tightened his hold on Spot briefly before he lifted his head. He studied Spot’s face, his eyes, the solemn set of his mouth. Race leaned in and kissed him, sweetly, softly, before pulling back just so that the tips of their noses touched.

“Sean,” He said quietly, ensuring he had Spot’s full attention. Dark eyes locked onto blue in the flickering light.

“Anthony,” Spot countered, and Race didn’t miss the slight waver in his voice. He smiled.

“I’d marry you any day, anytime, anywhere.”

Surprise flickered briefly through Spot’s eyes before he lifted a hand, cupping Race’s jaw. He brushed his thumb along Racer’s lower lip, sending a shiver down Race’s spine before Spot pulled him in for another kiss. There was a depth to this one, an intensity Race was _sure_ he hadn’t felt before–and thanks to Spot, he’d experienced his fair share of passionate kisses. His knees buckled slightly and he clung to Spot’s shoulders almost desperately, breathless when Spot pulled away.

“I hope you remember you said that.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I’m sorry this took longer than usual. It is a monster of a “chapter” and there are several reasons for that, number one being that I have absolutely zero chill. Mostly though it's that, of all my AUs, this one is my favorite (although chef Spot & bartender Race are QUICKLY approaching second place, whew), probably because I’ve put the most time & effort into this story/series, and it’s really close to my heart. Editing is hard, and I wanted to be sure that I loved every bit of this before I called it done. And I’m finally there. So. I promised fluff, so please enjoy the fluffiest fluff I have ever written—which, if you’ve read anything else of mine, you’ll know that’s saying something.

Two days after Racer’s twenty-fourth birthday, Spot woke him up early.

It was Saturday, so Racer didn’t need to be at the school, and Spot had stayed in the castle with him the night before, so he was off duty, too. Race was used to Spot being punctual, but there was something about the way he sprung out of bed that morning that struck him. Race lingered, stretching as he wracked his brain, trying to remember if they had plans. Surely he would have remembered making them, especially if they were to begin this early in the day.

“Where are we going?” He mumbled, voice still thick with sleep as turned on his side to look at Spot, who was rummaging through the dresser.

“You’ll see,” Spot said shortly, turning to face him with his arms full of clean clothes. He walked to the bed and folded them, setting them in a neat pile at the foot of the bed. Racer reached a hand out; Spot instinctively responded in kind and Race grabbed his wrist and tugged hard, knocking him off balance enough that he fell back into bed. Race laughed in triumph as he wrapped his long limbs around him, effectively trapping him. “Damn it, Racer—"

“Why do we have to be up so _early_? It’s our day off, for Christ’s sake.” Race complained, nuzzling his nose into Spot’s neck; an almost surefire way to distract him, Race had learned over the last two years. Spot grumbled something incoherent in response even as his arms slid around Race’s waist. “Let’s stay in bed a little longer.”

“If that’s what you really want to do,” Spot replied airily, and something about his tone made Racer pause. He looked up, narrowing his eyes.

“Why, what did you have in mind?”

Spot ducked his head to kiss down the side of Race’s neck as he murmured, “I have some errands to run in town, later, but I thought we might start the day with a hot bath…” Racer hummed softly, eyes fluttering closed. “But if you don’t want to—"

“Let’s go.”

By the time they bathed, dressed, and ate breakfast, it wasn’t so early anymore. It was mid-morning, the sky a vibrant, cloudless blue. It wasn’t quite as humid as it typically was at this time of year, and Racer was grateful for that as they strolled across the grounds hand in hand. They seemed rather deserted, Race noticed offhandedly, especially for a Saturday. He gave Spot’s hand a squeeze as they walked through the gates on the edge of town.

“Where are we going?” He asked again as they entered the marketplace. He was distracted almost immediately by the vendors, and Spot slowed to allow him to poke his nose into various stands as they walked. They seemed to be heading toward the forge. His suspicion was confirmed when the two-story house came into view, but something about it was off. There were no journeymen working outside, although if he squinted he could see a few of the younger apprentices further back inside the forge.

They came to a stop at the edge of the street by the forge and Racer cast a curious sidelong glance at Spot, who finally spoke.

“D’you know what happened here?”

Confused, Race looked around, taking in his surroundings. “You mean, here, the forge? Or here, this particular place in the street?”

Spot chuckled. “Well, both, but mainly this workspace, here.” He gestured at the space just inside the forge’s covering, oddly abandoned by its journeymen. Slowly, Race shook his head no. “This is where I was the first time you commissioned me for a blade.”

Race could feel his heart begin to pound in his chest as a slow smile spread across his face. Of course _he_ remembered the interaction in question. Race had been dawdling through town with Jack when he’d very nearly crashed into a jewelry stand because he’d been so distracted by Spot. He’d approached him on impulse–shocker–and not a day had gone by since that he regretted that decision. “You remember that?”

“’Course I do,” Spot laughed, a short, airy thing that made Racer grin wider. “You’re approached by the golden prince himself, you’re gonna remember it.” Race tugged on his hand playfully. “It’s more than that, though,” Spot went on, thoughtful. “I’d seen you before, of course-“

“So I caught your eye, huh?” Race teased, eyes sparkling in the sun.

“Hard not to,” Spot admitted and Racer flushed, pleased. “I’d seen you before but I didn’t really know anything about you. Thought you were prettier than anyone had a right to be, which is still true. But I assumed you were a spoiled brat. That you didn’t care about anything but yourself and your toys.” He smiled, twisting a lock of Race’s hair through his fingers. “Only took one private meeting with you to figure out that wasn’t true.”

“And thank God for those meetings, Spot,” Race added sincerely. “They were sometimes the only thing that kept me sane. Having something to look forward to.” Spot kissed him then, quickly but gently before he jerked his head toward the forge.

“C’mon,” Spot said, pulling Racer along with him as they walked around the far side of the forge. The cellar door came into view and with it, a flood of memories–not all of them good. Racer followed Spot down the stone stairs, noting distantly that the doors weren’t locked. He wasn’t quite prepared for the rush of memories that hit him when the door swung open, triggered by the décor, unchanged from the last time he’d been there. Small wooden bed, high window, small beat-up dresser, wooden chair, bucket. Race was fairly sure Mush slept here, now, as he’d taken over when Spot left. When Spot didn’t start talking right away, Race nudged him.

“Why are we here, Spot?”

“This is…” He paused as his gaze swept over the small room. Racer watched him, curious. It wasn’t often Spot reminisced about his past, and maybe nostalgia wasn’t quite the right word for what he saw in Spot’s eyes, but there was definitely something fond in them, now. “This is where I got to lie next to you for the first time.”

The admission knocked Racer off balance for a moment and he swayed a little on the spot. The errands Spot needed to run today all had something to do with him, with _them_ , he realized all at once. He swallowed, feeling his pulse begin to race. “I remember.”

Spot glanced at him. “Do you?”

“Of course.”

“I remember my heart was just pounding,” Spot chuckled, and if the light were better in the room Race would have sworn he was flushed. “I was so afraid you could hear it, ‘cause of this damn tiny bed.”

“I didn’t mind the tiny bed,” Race said immediately, and now he was sure Spot’s cheekbones were tinged pink. “Not at _all_.”

“S’that so?”

“Yes,” Racer said emphatically, nodding. He grinned, reaching out to run a hand over Spot’s chest. “First time I saw you without a shirt was in this room, too.”

Spot snorted. “That’s what you remember?”

“Vividly.”

Spot led him through the maze of halls inside the forge and Racer couldn’t help but notice how incredibly _quiet_ it was; it was slightly eerie, if he were honest. He wasn’t sure exactly where they were going–he’d never had a chance to properly acquaint himself with the inner workings of the house attached to the forge. But before long, they stopped at a familiar door, one he had nervously knocked on many a time over the years. Spot pushed the door open and Race was hit with another wave of nostalgia; the room hadn’t changed one bit.

“Your office?” Race asked, eyebrows raised. It was still Spot’s office, in his mind, even if it belonged to Mush, now. “Plenty of memories in here…” Racer’s tone was suggestive as he dropped Spot’s hand and moved to lean against the desk, propping himself up with his hands. Spot lingered in the doorway, giving him a look that Racer assumed was meant to be disapproving. But then he sat on the edge of the desk, long legs dangling an inch above the floor and Spot crossed the room in a second, one hand sliding into Race’s hair as always and the other cupping his jaw as he tilted his face up for a kiss that went on longer than was strictly proper, considering Spot didn’t work there anymore–not to mention the door was still wide open. Racer let out a disappointed noise when Spot pulled back a few moments later.

“This is where I was the first time I thought about kissing you.”

“I wish you had,” Race said, a little breathless.

“I wanted to, but I couldn’t… you know I couldn’t.”

“I know, but I wish I’d known… God knows I thought about a lot more than that…” Race murmured as he toyed with the collar of Spot’s shirt. He had half a mind to bolt the office door; Spot seemed to sense this and he took a step backward, smirking.

“Oh, I know you did,” He caught Race’s fingers again and tugged, pulling him flush against him on his backward walk to the door. “You told me _all_ about it.”

Race ducked down to kiss him again, continuing to walk them toward the open door until Spot’s back was pressed into the doorframe and Racer’s hands were tangled in dark strands, this time-

_Clang._

The loud, sudden noise from the forge startled them both; Race had nearly forgotten where they were. And, for that matter, that Spot didn’t technically have any reason to be there, anymore. Add in the fact that this was Mush’s office, now, and Race nodded obediently, flushed, when Spot took his hand to lead him out the door.

They stopped at the edge of the street again, a little further down from where they’d been the first time. Race’s eyebrows furrowed as he spun in a little circle. Now, this one looked familiar…

“Wait…” He muttered, spinning back to face Spot again. “Is this-“

“This, Racer, is where you showed me I had nothing to be afraid of,” Spot said matter-of-factly, and Racer’s jaw dropped just slightly. He scrambled for words.

“What do you mean?” His voice came out in an awed whisper, fingers tightening around Spot’s hand as though afraid he may float away, otherwise. Spot looked up at him.

“Racer, before you, I thought I’d spend the rest of my life in this forge. In that room in the cellar, in that dingy office, on this filthy street. And I was fine with that… until you.” Race couldn’t speak; couldn’t look away. “You made me stop and think about what I _wanted_ from life. I’d never asked myself that, before. Never thought I’d have the chance to get something I wanted.” He gave Racer’s hand a squeeze that sent butterflies through his stomach. _Still._ “You gave me the courage to take that leap, and I’m not just talkin’ about leavin’ the forge. Only one other person, before you, knew I was… different. And I’m lucky that person was Tommy, or I might not be standin’ here with you right now.” Race interrupted him with a chaste kiss, earning a quick smile before Spot continued. “Deciding to let the world know about that part of me was probably the scariest thing I’ve ever done. I knew tellin’ the truth wouldn’t be easy, and I knew it wouldn’t be comfortable at first. But the _choice_ was easy, Racer. ‘Cause of you.”

“Spot,” Race said softly, because he could think of nothing else to say. He thought his heart might burst if Spot said one more sweet thing, which was unfortunate because Spot didn’t appear to be done.

“I’ll choose you over comfort every time, Anthony.” And that was all Racer could take. He grabbed two fistfuls of Spot’s tunic and pulled him close, crushing his lips against Spot’s with an urgency he felt in his gut. Standing there, on the very place where they had publicly chosen each other, kissing him like this in the familiar summer heat made his knees weak. Spot held his hips tightly, unwavering under Racer’s bruising pressure; solid and sturdy as ever. Race was out of breath when he pulled back, fingers still twisted in Spot’s shirt. He hadn’t yet found his voice when Spot spoke again. “Do you realize what today is?”

Race swallowed, looking over Spot’s shoulder into the deserted forge. Hang on… “Wait, is it- has it been…?”

“Two years to the day,” Spot finished for him, smirking. Race drew a soft, shuddering breath in; he couldn’t believe he didn’t realize it. He was the one who, last year after his birthday, had procured them a bottle of sparkling wine to celebrate their anniversary. He couldn’t believe he’d forgotten, this time.

“God, I’m the _worst_ ,” Racer groaned, dropping his forehead onto Spot’s shoulder. “Why do you even like me?” He grumbled into his shirt. Spot chuckled, tipping Race’s head back up with a finger.

“You’re dramatic,” He said, shaking his head, his smile soft and affectionate. “But I love you anyway. Come on, we have a few more stops to make.”

Spot led him further west, and Race couldn’t stop sneaking sideways glances at him as they walked, wondering just what had gotten into him, today. It wasn’t that Spot never did sweet things like this; he did, and rather often, but they were usually small, private gestures–reminding Racer to eat, retrieving his clothes from the laundry when Race forgot, a spontaneous hike to the hot springs after a long week. But this… this felt different. Important, somehow, and Racer focused on all of his senses, trying to commit every moment to memory. He was sure he’d want to remember this, later.

The orphanage came into view all at once. Race was rather surprised when Spot slowed; he’d assumed they were headed out of town, or perhaps back to the castle. They stopped on the corner, maintaining a clear view of the building. The outside hadn’t changed much since Racer’s childhood, but he knew the inside was nearly unrecognizable from the hellhole it had been when Snyder was in charge. He felt the familiar urge to run his mouth, find something to fill the quiet. But he knew Spot wouldn’t have stopped if he didn’t have something to say, and Race desperately wanted to hear it. So he waited. He watched Spot’s face, taking in his carefully controlled, stoic expression that, three years ago, would have stumped him. But now he could pick out the somewhat distant look in Spot’s eyes, the slight clench of his jaw; could feel the warmth of his hand as it clutched his where they stood. He only had to wait another moment for Spot to speak.

“This, right here, is probably the most incredible thing you’ve ever done for me.”

To say Race was surprised would be an understatement. His eyebrows knitted together in confusion.

“Wha- Spot, I didn’t do this.”

“Yes, you did,” Spot insisted, finally tearing his eyes away from the building. “You made me believe it was possible to change the way I feel about this place. Y’know, as a kid, living here, you don’t know what life is supposed to be like. You don’t know that people are supposed to care about each other, care _for_ each other. You just watch out for yourself, hopin’ you’ll get your hands on some food before the kid next to ya does. That you don’t get shoved outta the bed onto the floor in the middle of the night.” Race gulped. He couldn’t imagine that; and he knew Spot was sparing him the details. It was still hard to hear these things, but he owed it to Spot (and the countless other boys who’d turned into men in the Refuge) to listen. “Never thought I had it in me to care about someone else until Kloppman. Until the guys in the forge. But then you,” At that, the corner of Spot’s mouth lifted in a small smile, which Race eagerly returned.

“Then me?”

“Then you.” Spot agreed, gaze flicking back to the building in front of them. “This place used to be the source of my nightmares, and until you asked me what I would do if I could choose, I never thought it could be anything else. And without you there with me, every step of the way, it wouldn’t be. No, no arguments,” He added without looking back at Race. Racer couldn’t hold back a grin; he hadn’t even opened his mouth to argue, but he’d been about to. “Don’t downplay how important you are to this, Racer. To me.”

Race wasn’t sure he could speak, so he pulled Spot’s hand up to his lips instead, pressing several urgent kisses there.

“I don’t think I can ever really thank you enough for that, but I’ve got time to keep trying.”

“Spot,” Race insisted, reaching up to cup his face. He brushed his thumb over Spot’s cheekbone, over the barely visible scar under his eye. “I should be thanking you. Neither of us would be where we are today if not for your courage. And your heart,” He added, and there was no mockery in his tone when he said it, but it drew an eye roll from Spot, anyway. He dropped his hand to Spot’s chest. “Who knew that was in there, all this time?”

“You did,” Spot’s eyes locked on his again and Race was struck by their depth, their openness. It made his knees feel weak, again. _Still._

“Only after you showed me,” He countered, letting a little playfulness back into his tone. “For someone who cares so much about the little guy, you sure can be intimidating.”

“You love it.”

“I do,” Racer agreed, running his hands over Spot’s chest, moving them up to lock behind his neck. His fingers toyed with the short hair at the back of Spot’s head as he leaned in to kiss him again. He was gentler, this time, than he had been at the forge, but when Spot made a soft, content noise at the brush of their lips, he felt his stomach flip. Race was almost overwhelmed by the force of the affection that began in his chest and spread through his limbs, into his fingers and toes as they held each other on the street. He was nearly trembling when they broke apart, and the sight of Spot’s dark eyes shining in the summer sun was one he wanted to remember forever.

“Come on. Let’s take a walk.”

Spot steered them toward the wall at the edge of the town on the west side and climbed quickly over it. He watched fondly from the other side as Race leapt at the wall, throwing himself easily over to drop lightly to his feet. They didn’t care in the slightest that it was broad daylight and they had no real reason to do this, other than that it amused them. Race was pretty sure he knew where they were going, now, and instinctively followed the line of the river toward the castle, lacing his fingers through Spot’s as they went. When they pulled parallel with the castle, Racer’s eyes lit up and he squeezed Spot’s hand.

“Oh, I want a turn!”

“A turn?” Spot asked quizzically.

In lieu of an answer, Race dragged Spot off of their path and crouched down, motioning for Spot to follow suit. When he did, Race pressed himself into Spot’s side, twisting his hands into his shirt to hold him there.

“When we were going to Medda’s that first time,” Racer spoke quietly into Spot’s ear, biting back a grin when he noticed Spot’s jaw tense, his sharp inhale. “You pulled me down right about here and held me against you and I thought I was going to _die_.”

Spot snorted. “Funny you should mention that.”

“Why?” Spot turned his head and kissed him, and Race would be lying if he said he wasn’t a little surprised by the hunger behind it. But he returned it happily, sighing in protest when Spot pulled away too soon. Spot stood, holding down a hand to help Race up and brushing the dirt and leaves from their clothes.

“You’ll see.” Spot kept a grip on his hand as he guided Race back to the path.

When the sharp bend in the river came into view, Spot slowed again. Race glanced slyly at him, a grin tugging at the corner of his lips. He knew what _he_ remembered from this part of that night, two years ago. Sure enough, Spot led him to the massive tree near the bend, the one with a large hollow that could _just_ fit both of them. When they stopped, Race had to bite his tongue almost painfully to keep his mouth shut. As if he sensed this, Spot kept him in suspense, eyes sparkling, until Race let out a little whine of impatience and Spot cracked a grin.

“Anyone ever tell you you’re really needy?”

“Once or twice,” Race huffed, and he could feel the warmth of the flush across his cheekbones. “Tell me, Spotty.” He pleaded, dropping Spot’s hand to slide his arms around his neck and pull him close. Spot’s hands came automatically to rest on his waist as he turned to look at the tree. Race’s eyes roamed over Spot’s profile. _God, he’s gorgeous._ Finally, Spot spoke.

“This is where I held you in my arms for the first time,” He stated simply, still looking at the tree. His grip on Race’s waist tightened infinitesimally and Race took the invitation to move even closer. Spot looked back at him. “And I knew I should’ve been focused on being still and quiet, keepin’ you safe. But all I could think about was how close you were, my hand on your mouth…” Spot’s hand lifted then, the motion seeming almost unconscious as he brushed a thumb over Race’s bottom lip. Race swallowed, heart beginning to pound again. Spot chuckled; Race’s eyebrows shot up. “And then I had the _brilliant_ idea for you to turn around, and then you _listened_ , and I wanted to kick myself ‘cause after that, all I could think about was doin’ it again.”

The warmth that spread through Race’s chest at his words didn’t surprise him, anymore–no, Spot could do that with a simple look. What surprised him was the explicit knowledge that he hadn’t read too much into that moment when it had happened; that it had meant the same thing to Spot as it had to him, and that realization was heady even two years later.

“You made quick work of that,” Race reminded him, as Spot raised an eyebrow in response. “I literally woke up in your arms the next morning.”

“I know.”

“You _know_?” Race sputtered, eyes wide. He knew he’d never forget the feeling of waking up with Spot draped around him, but he could have _sworn_ Spot had still been asleep. Spot only smirked in response, that sexy, knowing smirk that sent a jolt through Racer and he bit at his lip, lost in the swirl of memories. He tried to prioritize them, to pin down the order of events so far that day. They’d visited the forge, the cellar room, the office–although they hadn’t lingered there as long as Race would have liked–and now the tree. A sly smile began to work its way across his face. He was fairly sure he knew the answer to his next question, but he asked anyway.

“Where to next, Spotty?”

Spot leaned in and kissed him as a response, which he welcomed, twisting a hand into Spot’s hair at the back. Spot didn’t fall for the distraction, to Racer’s mild dismay, pulling back a moment later to murmur against his lips.

“Come with me.”

Biting back the sappy response that sprang to mind, Race nodded, accepting Spot’s hand as he started to walk through the glade, away from the river. They walked in comfortable silence for a mile or so, but Race’s mind was going at lightspeed. Desperate to know more, he tugged on Spot’s hand.

“I think I know where we’re going next.”

“You think?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me,” Spot said, his voice mild and relaxed as the edge of Medda’s garden came into view.

“Well, it only makes sense…” Racer trailed off, tearing his eyes from Spot’s face to look at the cottage. It hadn’t changed a bit, as beautiful and charming as ever. The vegetable garden was flourishing, the flowers on the other side of the cottage were stunningly vibrant, catching rays of sun that filtered through the dense trees. Racer smiled instinctively, instantly soothed by the sight; Medda’s would forever be one of his favorite places in the world. Fairly bursting at the seams, Race focused his energy on keeping his mouth shut, waiting for Spot to speak first.

“Here.” He said, causing Race’s eyebrows to raise in surprise.

“That’s it? Just ‘here’?” Spot rolled his eyes indulgently but continued.

“Here is where I first dared to think that we could really be together, even if we ended up having to keep it a secret.” Although he knew by now to expect something along these lines, Racer still felt a swooping sensation in his stomach at the admission. He hadn’t been sure of Spot’s feelings, those years ago, until the moment Spot had kissed him back in the hot springs. There had been clues, sure, but he didn’t dare let himself think too deeply about any of them, back then. _Except…_ He grinned teasingly, unable to help himself.

“This is also where you told me you thought I was pretty,”

Spot huffed a laugh. “I’m not sure that’s _exactly_ what I said,”

Race shrugged. “Well, that’s what I heard.”

“Good,” Spot nodded once, smoothing Race’s curls out of his eyes once again. “’Cause you are.”

Race couldn’t hold back any longer. He took Spot’s face gently in both of his hands and kissed him, softly, at first. He knew he couldn’t convey the depth of his feeling with just a kiss but damn it, he could try. Spot hummed contentedly as he returned the gentle pressure, sending a shiver down Race’s spine when he felt a hand in his hair, the other at the small of his back, holding him close. Race pulled back a moment later and rested his forehead against Spot’s.

“Spot,” His voice was barely a whisper. “This has been so, so beautiful.”

“Oh,” Spot said, almost deviously; his tone surprised Race and he looked up. “It’s not over yet.”

“Seriously?”

“Don’t you think there’s one place we skipped?” Spot’s eyebrows were raised suggestively. Race gasped, feigning shock. He’d rather thought their little trip was over, but who was he to deny Spot anything?

“We already had a bath, today,” He pointed out, not really arguing. Spot looked contemplative for a moment before he pulled back and started to lead Racer by the hand toward the cottage.

“Who says we can’t bathe twice in a day?” He asked thoughtfully as they rounded the corner. Race opened his mouth to respond but was suddenly distracted by an unexpected movement at the edge of his vision. His head whipped around and he stopped dead in his tracks.

There, behind Medda’s cottage, stood every single person Racer loved aside from Spot: Katherine, Sarah, Jack, Davey, Albert, Charlie, Medda herself. Sprinkled around them were his friends, including but not limited to Specs, Romeo, Mike, Ike, Mush, Tommy, Elmer, Finch, and Racer could see a few more heads behind them but his vision was suddenly too blurry to make them out. The yard behind Medda’s house had been completely transformed. Bunches of gorgeous, fragrant lilacs were hung here and there on nearby trees, turning the already serene setting into a dreamy woodland wonderland. About twenty feet from them sat two large tree stumps, also adorned with pastel flowers. He blinked furiously, hastily wiping away the surprised tears that fell as he did. His voice shook when he turned to Spot again.

“Spot, what—"

“It’s as small as I could manage,” Spot explained, as though he were continuing a casual conversation they’d momentarily halted. “But you did say closest friends and family, right?”

Race’s mouth opened and closed, still completely stunned. He swallowed hard, trying and failing to calm the rapid beat of his heart. His legs felt like jelly beneath him, and he wondered how in the hell he was still standing. He was distantly aware of the many pairs of eyes on them, but he could focus only on Spot, standing in front of him, looking at him with those piercing dark eyes. When they’d begun this sweetly silly anniversary tour, he never imagined it would end like this. Still having trouble wrapping his head around what he saw, he cleared his throat in an attempt to sound normal, which didn’t entirely work.

“Sean, is this…?” He trailed off, suddenly terrified to say the words. Terrified that he might somehow be wrong. Spot hesitated, looking for a moment as though he were going to tease him, make him finish his question. But then his eyes softened as they always did, and he nodded.

“No planning. No big party. No fanfare. Just our friends and family,” He pulled Race close as he spoke, interlacing their fingers on both hands. “And us. No decisions to make, Anthony. Well, except for one—"

“Yes.” Race blurted, entirely out of breath. Spot’s eyes lit up and Race noticed his shoulders relax, the tiniest bit. It brought Racer back to reality and he gripped Spot’s hands tightly, his smile blinding. “Yes, _God_ , yes. Did you think for even a second it would be anything but yes?” Race didn’t give him a chance to respond as he wrapped a hand around the back of Spot’s neck, pulling him in for a kiss unlike any they had shared before. Racer hardly noticed the whistles, laughs and whoops from their small audience; he didn’t care about anything in that moment except for Spot. Spot smiled against his lips, his relief evident in the way he held Race against him until they had to part, panting. They locked eyes.

“So,” Spot whispered. “Are you ready?”

Race could only nod eagerly in response, fully convinced he would burst into tears—or maybe flames, they felt equally likely at the moment—if he tried to speak. Spot gave him one more quick kiss before he took his hand, leading him again. This time, he led Racer past their friends to the matching tree stumps, where Medda waited, her own smile blinding when they arrived. Racer took several deep breaths in another attempt to calm his pounding heart, but one look at Spot sent it racing again as they stood in front of their loved ones, who filtered around them in a half circle. Race tore his eyes from Spot’s face long enough to notice, with a start, Esther, Mayer, Les and oh, was that Kloppman? Swallowing against another rush of emotion, he looked back in time to see Spot toss him a wink that made his heart flutter in his chest. Medda cleared her throat softly, and Spot surprised them all when he began to speak, instead.

“I know I kinda sprung this on you, Racer, so I don’t expect you to have some beautiful speech planned—"

“No, no I’m ready, Sean,” Race assured him. “You first, though.” That drew a chuckle from their friends as Spot huffed a laugh.

“I’ve already told you all of this today, but… You’ve changed my life, Racer, I… Knowing you, these years of being with you have been the happiest of my life, and it’s not close. The fact that you love _me_ , that you’re standin’ here with me right now is, frankly, a goddamn miracle.” He paused, swallowing. The volume of his voice dropped slightly then as he squeezed Race’s hands. “I… I wanna be your safe place, Racer. And… I promise to remind you how amazing you are whenever you forget, and I promise to never stop tellin’ you how pretty you are.” Race laughed, joyful. “I love you, Anthony, and I promise I always will.”

It took nearly all of Racer’s self-control not to lean in and kiss him right then and there, but he managed, somehow. He took a deep, shuddering breath before he spoke.

“Before you, Spot, I thought I knew… what love was. I’ve read books, ya know?” Spot smiled at that. “But nothing, in any book I’ve ever read, comes close to describing how I feel about you. How _you_ make me feel. I feel like I can do anything with you by my side, Sean, and I’d be an absolute fool not to want that every single day of my life. And contrary to popular belief, I am no fool.” He grinned when he said it, easily picking out Jack’s chuckle above the rest. “You are, without a doubt, the love of my life, and I don’t wanna wait one more minute to make that official.” Race paused, swallowing, tearing his eyes away just long enough to raise an eyebrow at Medda. “Medda, please. I’m dying.”

Medda laughed; a warm, comforting sound, as she produced, seemingly out of thin air, two matching silver bands. Race and Spot took one each, and their joyous smiles matched, too, as they slid the rings onto trembling fingers. “As you wish, honey. Friends, it is my absolute pleasure to introduce for the first time, Sean and…” She paused suddenly, eyebrows drawing together as she leaned toward them and dropped her voice slightly. “Which surname, boys?”

Spot laughed softly, looking almost sheepish. “I guess there’s one more decision to ma—"

“Conlon,” Race said quickly, his voice steady for the first time since they had walked around the cottage. Spot’s eyebrows rose.

“You sure?”

“Hell yes,” Race assured him, all too eager to shed his father’s name. He picked out Katherine’s snicker at that and he grinned. He was practically vibrating where he stood as he waited for Medda to make it official.

“In that case,” She continued, that familiar twinkle back in her eyes as she stood up and spoke to the small group. “It is my pleasure to introduce, for the first time, Sean and Anthony Conlon.” She paused for dramatic effect and the twinkle turned mischievous before she finally added, “You can kiss him, now.”

The words were hardly out of her mouth before they were reaching for each other. Race took Spot’s face in his hands, while Spot’s hands tangled in his curls as they _finally_ kissed for what felt like the first time and the last time, all at once. Spot’s lips were soft but insistent against his and it was dizzying, but Race knew he would remain upright as long as Spot held him like that–which, he knew now, would be the rest of their lives. He let out a breathy laugh as the knowledge settled on him, heavy, warm, and secure. He could feel Spot smile against his lips as one of his hands dropped from his hair to grip his waist and Racer tilted his head, fairly forgetting their audience in their bliss.

As it turns out, even newlyweds need to breathe, and they did eventually part. Now, Race could hear the comments from their friends and family as Jack and Albert halfheartedly teased them, faces split into wide grins as they looked on. Katherine had her hands clasped together in front of her chest, eyes glistening as Sarah held her firmly with one arm, her own smile more subdued but no less delighted. Davey was shaking his head fondly, rolling his eyes away from his husband with that long-suffering, closed-mouth smile that told Racer he was barely holding back his laughter.

Race’s heart felt like it swelled to three times its normal size as he drank in the moment. All his life, he avoided imagining his wedding day–which left his subconscious to do it for him, in the form of increasingly strange and horrifying nightmares. Never could he have imagined the pure and unbridled joy he would feel on that day as he looked into the faces of the people he loved most in the world and saw his joy reflected back at him. Never would he have thought that Spot– _Spot Conlon!_ Christ, of all people–would be the one standing opposite him, wearing a matching ring to show their commitment to the world, looking at him like he hung the moon and the stars in the sky. Spot, who had organized the entire thing without even so much as a hint of what he was up to, without faltering in his day-to-day responsibilities. All at once, Racer understood what he’d seen on Jack and Davey’s faces at their wedding. Unable to stop himself–and ecstatic in the knowledge that he _didn’t have to_ anymore, ever–Race pulled Spot in by his shirt for one more kiss. This one was short and sweet, drawing a few unironic ‘aww’s from their crowd before they pulled apart to mingle with their loved ones.

The afternoon and evening passed in a whirlwind as Medda, Jack, and Davey served food and Specs presented a masterpiece of a cake, causing another well of emotion in Race’s chest and he clung to Spot’s arm for what felt like the hundredth time that day. And Spot was there, and he had promised to always be there, and Racer wasn’t sure he’d ever quite get used to how content that fact made him feel. Eventually, the sun began to drop in the sky. Medda told them she was going to stay in the castle, so the newlyweds could have her cottage for a few days. Spot had made the arrangements with the school and orphanage already, of course, Race realized with yet another rush of _how in the hell did I get so lucky?_ As they watched the retreating backs of their loved ones, Spot stepped up beside Racer and slid a hand into his, squeezing gently.

“Come with me,”

_Anywhere_ was the answer his love-hazy brain came up with, and he only barely managed to whisper, “Where?” instead.

“I told you there was one place we skipped.” Spot said with a smirk. Race nodded, grinning as Spot turned and they started on the familiar trek through the forest, down the gradual hills, past the misshapen boulder. When the springs came into view, Racer was momentarily distracted by their sheer beauty; they’d arrived just in time to catch the sunset, and the sky was a dazzling mix of oranges and purples, reflected in the clear pool.

They undressed and slipped into the water without hesitation, making their way to the ledge. Spot reached for him and Race went eagerly. He nuzzled into the side of Spot’s neck as he often did, eyes fluttering closed as he basked in the layers of comforting warmth; the water, Spot’s soft skin, the strong arm around him, holding him in place. His place. He reached into the water until he found Spot’s left hand, searching for the new piece of jewelry that would assure him this hadn’t all been some elaborate fever dream. He smiled widely when he found it, the metal sturdy and unforgiving against his fingers, and a sudden thought tumbled out of his mouth.

“Spot, did you make these rings?” Spot hummed an affirmative response and Race lifted his head, incredulous. “Wha- when?”

“My last week at the forge, before I took over the orphanage.”

Race’s jaw dropped, stunned. Spot chuckled at the sight, always impressed with himself whenever he managed to render him speechless. Race recovered slowly, shaking his head in wonderment. “Guess you meant it when you said 'all of it,' huh?”

“Guess so,” Spot agreed, eyes twinkling. But then he frowned, his expression suddenly far too serious for the moment. “Although, if you forget our anniversary next year, we’re gonna have problems.”

Racer threw his head back and laughed, squeezing impossibly closer against Spot–his _husband._ So many of his most memorable days had happened with Spot–often because of him, too–but this one… Race leaned in to kiss him, soft and sweet.

“I can promise you, Sean, I will never _ever_ forget it again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, seriously, from the bottom of my heart. If you're here that means you've stuck around through all of The One We'll Create and indulged my ramblings and just, wow 💜💜 I love these two so much and it was such a pleasure to give them the happy ending they deserve. Honestly, it would have been even longer if I’d included all the details I wanted to, but I’m trying to get better at holding back when necessary, not every headcanon needs to be in the story y’know (lol who am I kidding). Like, there’s a reason for the lilacs, and it was one of the first things that inspired this whole “epilogue” aaand then it didn’t even make the final cut, jfc. Anyway.
> 
> I’m on tumblr at amscraypunk and I’m literally always down to gush about these boys. Thanks so much again! 🥰💜


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